I hate snow. I make no secret of it. I’m almost as bad as driving in it as all the other natives of the area, but since I know they’re still worse than me I’m worried about me and paranoid about them. My hatred of snow has gotten worse since we moved to “the sticks” because the snow out here stays around a lot longer than in my sea-level hometown, allowing it to compact under tires and become thick, bumpy ice that spins my little Geo like a 7″ single.
So the first time I saw Art Lawn, our tractor, with that aftermarket hydraulic bucket on the front, I naturally thought of plowing snow before I ever thought of plowing soil. This Monday I made two unsuccessful attempts to get work before I gave up the ghost and went home. I spent a lovely day being mildly sick with guilt over my absence from work, knitting crookedly, doing housework, drinking a pot of coffee, and taking smoke breaks whenever I damn well pleased. The best part was when Matt came home from work. Thanks to Daylight Saving Time he had enough light to fire up Art and plow our whole street!
It’s cold, awkward, and somewhat painful to hug a tractor with a bucket on it, but I did it anyway.